


How close am I to losing you

by crispierchip



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:23:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9842375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispierchip/pseuds/crispierchip
Summary: Dean almost wants to laugh. Almost. “Jesus,” he says. He blinks and feels the tears finally spill over, has to hide his face in his hand. “I slept with someone else.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i got the idea for this a while ago and decided to give it a go. that being said, this is my first destiel fic in a _while_.
> 
> title from about today by the national

Dean is on the phone, that’s how he burns the food. He gets a call from the garage he’d interviewed at last week, and he gets so excited he forgets to turn the stove off before heading off to the dining room to take the call. 

It’s a good call, a call back interview now that they’ve narrowed down the applicants, and Dean’s in a good mood, which lasts right about until he gets back in the kitchen and sees the mess that’s become of it. The stove is covered in mucky, burnt oil, and the meat is charred looking and stuck to the bottom of the pan, letting out a foul smell.  

Dean quickly turns off the stove and moves the pan away, examining to see if it’s salvageable. After deciding that it is, in fact, not, he curses and puts it in the sink, running some water over it. The kitchen reeks of burnt oil and it leaves a bitter sheen in the back of his throat as he breathes it in. He opens all the balcony doors and shivers against the sharp cold air they let in. 

“Fuck,” he says out loud, looking at the mess that’s become of the stove. He’s going to have to clean that up and make something else, which, he decides after checking his watch, he’s just not going to have time for, no matter how hard he tries. 

With a sigh, he sets about cleaning the kitchen first, scrubbing the muck from the stove and the wall behind it. By the time he’s done, he only has about ten minutes before Cas is set to come home, so he makes quick work of mopping the kitchen floor, hoping that will rid of the burnt stench from the apartment. It doesn’t, not very well, so Dean gives up and reaches for a new pot to cook some pasta in. 

“Dean?” he hears Cas call a few minutes later, and turns around just in time to see him shrugging off his coat. “Why are all the doors open?” Can asks. He takes a breath and frowns sourly. “And what’s that smell?”

“I burnt the chicken.” Dean admits. “Just close them,” he says, stirring the pasta in the pot, careful not to burn it, too. 

Behind him, Dean is iddly aware of Cas sliding the balcony doors shut. “I had a terrible day at work, today,” he’s saying, which, Dean could have guessed that. There hasn’t been a not terrible day for Cas at work, lately. 

“Sorry to hear that. I have good news, though,” Dean says, pouring some heavy cream in another pot for the sauce. 

“What’s for dinner?” Cas asks, coming up behind him. He lays a warm hand on Dean’s waist, and Dean tries not to think about how this is the most they’ve touched in the last two weeks, probably. 

“It’s pasta, but it won’t be ready for another twenty minutes,” Dean says. He goes to lean into Cas’s hand, but Cas pulls away. Dean turns away from the sauce for a minute to look at him, and sees his mouth is set in a firm line, his brows twisted together. “What’s wrong?” he asks, and his gut is already curling, stomach dropping. 

“Nothing.” Cas shakes his head. “I was just starving,” he says. 

Dean nods. “Sorry,” he says, and he really is, even though he knows it’s not that big of a deal to wait twenty minutes. “It won’t be long, though.”

Cas sighs and goes to sit at the kitchen table. “What was your good news, by the way?” he asks, half hearted. Then, before Dean can respond, he says, “Jesus, it’s cold in here.”

Dean grinds his jaw and puts on a smile. “Nothing, never mind,” he says. “It’ll warm up.”

There’s a moment of silence, just the sound of Dean working and the water boiling. Then, Cas says, “How did you burn the chicken anyway?”, and something snaps in Dean, after the long day and the zero fucks Cas seems to give about him. 

“I was on the phone,” he says, with forced calm. 

Cas either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, probably a mixture of both, because he presses on. “The phone?”

“Yes, Cas, the phone,” Dean says. “I fucked up, is that alright by you?” He lets go of the spoon he was using to stir the sauce and steps away from the stove. 

“I’m just - ”

“I swear to god, you better not say something about how the least I can do is cook for you,” Dean cuts him off.

Cas goes silent, which, it’s enough of a tell to get Dean fuming again. 

He shakes his head and walks out of the kitchen. “Have fun with your dinner,” Dean throws over his shoulder, as he’s leaving. 

He doesn’t wait to hear if Cas calls his name, it doesn’t feel like it matters, right about now. 

+

Dean heads to a bar, drinks too much diet soda, tries not to think about how he’s paying for it with Cas’s money. There’s a woman there, checking him out from the other end of the bad, and Dean is angry enough to say screw it. He buys her a drink and pays for it with Cas’s money too. 

Her name’s Sally, and she’s pretty and funny and Dean thinks - terribly, he thinks: Sally doesn’t want him to cook for her. She doesn’t make Dean care about how clean the house is, and he doesn’t feel obligated to her. Sally doesn’t feed him, or put up with his unemployed ass, and she didn’t help him put together job applications after he lost his job. She didn’t tutor him all through a college degree, either, though those things feel easy to forget right about now. 

And Dean - he’s so tired. It’s easy to look at Sally and see everything that isn’t wrong with his life, for once. So Dean goes home with Sally. He kisses her, and sleeps with her, and then sleeps in her bed, too, drops dead to the world with Cas still on his mind and his hand on his phone, waiting for Cas to call him. 

+

The next morning, Dean wakes up for breakfast cooking. Something oily and good, probably bacon. For one blissful second, he thinks he’s in his and Cas’s bedroom and that Cas is cooking him breakfast, only the bed feels wrong and Cas hasn’t done that in months.

Things slowly start creeping back into place, and a sinking feeling settles in his stomach, heavy as lead and thick as mud. He opens his eyes and has to shut them against the onslaught of light coming from the window. 

He just - he actually did this. He - he did this to Castiel because of - because a fight, a fight about food of all things, and isn’t that funny. Funny in the sickening sort of sense, because Dean feels sick, right now, feels like he can’t stand to be himself. 

“Dean,” he hears, and has to struggle to open his eyes again. Sally is leaning against the door frame, holding out a cup of coffee. “I made some coffee,” she says, putting the cup on the nightstand, thoughtfully within Dean’s reach. 

Dean looks at her, stupidly. He tries to make his voice work and the first couple of times, nothing comes out. Then, he tries, and croaks, “Thanks.”

“So,” she says, drawn out. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but your phone’s been going off like crazy.”

The sinking feeling in Dean’s stomach turns to full on dread, and he tries to swallow, only it sits in his throat, awkward. It’s probably Cas, he thinks, looking to see where he is, why he didn’t come home last night. Dean thinks about facing him, and just - can’t. He can’t do it. He thinks about last night and then thinks about Cas and feels this bone-deep shame overwhelm him, because Cas and he were going through a rough patch, but that is no excuse. 

“Hey, you okay?” Sally asks, placing a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean flinches, curling away from it, and she pulls her hand away like she’s been burnt. “Sorry,” he says, at the same time as her. 

“You just looked like you were going to be sick,” she explains. 

“No, it’s - I’m fine,” he lies, and sits up. He takes a sip of his coffee and it’s wrong, too sweet. Not the way Cas makes it. 

“That bad, huh?” Sally mumbles, face twisted into a frown. 

“No, no,” Dean hurries to say. “Please, it’s not - it’s not you,” he says. 

Sally gives him a look then, and produces his phone out of her pocket. “It’s Cas?” she asks, handing it over. “It was on the floor, I didn’t look through anything,” she says. 

Dean reached out and takes it, and his hand shakes, palm sweaty and fingers clumsy with it. There’s nineteen missed calls, five text messages from Cas plus a few others from Sam. 

“Listen,” Sally says, after Dean's been looking at the screen of his phone for too long. “I never, if I knew you had someone, I’d never ask you to - ”

Dean's brain finally kicks into gear then, and he cuts her off, a hand on her wrist. “No, jesus, no, this is not on you,” he says, hoarse. “This is - it’s on me,” he admits, and it feels simultaneously freeing and frightening, because it’s the truth. Dean did this. He - 

_ Fuck _ , he can’t even admit to it in his head. 

“I shouldn’t have - I just.” he struggles for something to say, but there’s just nothing there. 

Sally gives him a soft smile, humorless. “Come on,” she says. “Everything will look better after some bacon.”

+

Everything doesn’t look better after some bacon, but Dean and Sally talk, and that helps. 

“So, Cas,” Sally starts. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Dean remember a time that question would have made him bristle, defensive. He remembers how Cas had been there through it, a solid presence Dean could lean on. “He’s - he’s my partner,” Dean says, and even after all these years, it takes something out of him, to admit it. But today, he can’t even think about that. Al he can think about it whether or not Cas still  _ is _ , if he’ll want to be. 

“You guys been together long?” Sally goes on, and the question hurts, same as thinking about Cas hurts Dean right now. 

“Yeah,” he just says, bunching on a strip of bacon. 

“That’s - are you going to tell him?” Sally asks. Dean hasn’t known her for long, but he thinks she sounds small, now. All this time he’s been thinking about himself, he can’t imagine how Sally must be feeling. 

“Listen,” he says, putting down the bacon. “This is not on you. I made my choice. It was a stupid one. I get to live with it,” he goes on, because that much he knows, at least. 

Sally looks at him, and she looks marginally appeased by that. She doesn’t ask any more questions, but, still, Dean can’t get that last one out of his mind. He thinks, selfishly, he can’t imagine not telling Cas. He can’t imagine living with this inside of him. 

He can’t imagine how Cas will live with it, either. 

“I think I need to go,” he says then. 

+

Outside, Dean sits on a bus stop and reads through Cas’s messages. 

_ I’m sorry.  _

_ I’m really sorry Dean just come home. _

_ Don’t stay out too late.  _

_ I left some food for you in the microwave. _

_ I’m sorry Dean. Please come home [heart emoji] [heart emoji] [heart emoji] _

Dean looks at the heart emoji and feels sick, lost; guilty. 

He shuts off his phone and checks to see how long before the bus gets here. 

+

Cas is there when Dean gets back home, sitting at the kitchen table, phone in hand, and Dean freezes. It takes him a moment, for the initial surprise to wear off, and then he realizes Cas looks worried, and tired, dark circles under his eyes like he didn’t sleep well. 

He jumps when he sees Dean, this full-bodied twitch, and then looks away. “Dean, I’m so sorry,” is the first thing he says, and it drills a hole in Dean’s chest - his sincerity - right into his heart. 

“Hey,” Dean finds himself saying. “It’s not - you didn’t do anything wrong.” He wants to sit down at the table with him, maybe hold his hand, because Cas looks absolutely miserable, but he can’t so much as imagine touching Cas right now, not after last night. 

“I did.” Cas swallows. He looks up at Dean, and he looks so small, so unlike how Dean’s used to seeing him. “I’m so sorry. I treated you - god, I - ” He lets out a breath, labored, and looks away again. 

Dean, after everything, can’t  _ stand  _ doing this to him, having Cas thinking it’s all his fault, when Dean went out and ruined everything they had. “No, Cas, I - fuck, I’m so sorry,” he says, and the words come out thick and uneven, voice shaking. 

“Dean, no,” Cas says, stronger now. “Ever since you lost your job you’ve been there for me, and I took it for granted.” He stands up and comes closer to Dean, closing the distance between them. 

It feels - it feels liberating, to hear Cas acknowledge that, but it doesn’t help at all with the heavy feeling in Dean’s gut, the sickening sense of guilt. If anything, it just makes him feel worse, because if only he’d been a little patient. If only he’d held off so he could hear Cas say this today, then everything would have been better. 

Cas makes to touch him then, put a hand on his shoulder, and Dean, unthinking, steps away, can’t fathom Cas touching him right now. Cas’s face falls, and he takes a step back, probably thinking Dean is still mad at him, and Dean hates that, too. 

“No, it’s.” Dean tries, lost for words. “I need to tell you something,” he manages, quiet. 

“Of course,” Cas says easily, eager to make things better. 

Dean doesn’t want to tell him that he can’t, not now. “I… fuck, Cas, I’m so sorry,” he says, all in a rush, and fees his eyes pinch, this itchy foretelling feeling. 

“Dean, what are you talking about?” Cas says, and he sounds worried now. “Whatever it is, it’s fine, we can get through it.”

Dean almost wants to laugh. Almost. “Jesus,” he says. He blinks and feels the tears finally spill over, has to hide his face in his hand. “I slept with someone else.” It’s easier to admit now, now that Cas is not directly looking at him. 

There’s a long, heavy pause. Just Dean trying to get his breath back to normal and the sound of the entire world ringing in his ears. Then, Cas says, “Last night,” and it’s not really a question. 

Dean forces himself to look at him then, and he’s blurry, through the tears. He nods. 

Cas nods, too. “Okay,” he says, unnervingly calm the way he gets when he’s breaking apart inside. 

“Cas,” Dean tries, doesn’t know what to follow it up with. 

“I just.” Cas starts, doesn’t finish. “I. I don’t know what to say,” he finally settles on, and it  _ hurts  _ Dean, the calm in his voice.

Dean doesn’t know what to say either, so he just says nothing. 

“I think - I need to go,” Cas says, finally, after what feels an eternity. 

“No, no,” Dean hurries to say. “I’ll leave. I - I’ll go stay at Sam’s,” he says. 

Cas won’t even look at him. He’s looking at the floor, fingers clenched around the back of a chair. He’s shaking. 

“I’ll just,” Dean says, gesturing at the door. 

+

Outside, Dean calls Sam, because Sam’s the only person he can think about seeing right now. 

“Dude, where have you been?” Sam answers the phone with, and Dean wants to laugh. 

“Hey, Sammy,” he says instead. His voice is still wet, and he has to clear his throat. 

Sam is silent, for a moment, the sound of a door closing, and then he says, “Are you okay? Dean?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s - I’m okay,” Dean says. His stomach is twisted into itself, and his chest feels empty, like someone carved out everything of import with a spoon, but he can’t imagine how Cas is feeling right now. 

“Is Cas okay?” Sam asks. “He was really worried about you last night.”

“Yeah, he’s - ” Dean cuts himself off because he doesn’t think - he doesn’t think Cas is okay, right now. “I don’t know,” he says, thick. “I fucked up, Sammy.” he has to fight not to burst into tears again, because he’s not the one who deserves to be crying now. 

“Dean, where are you?” Sam asks.

Dean sucks in a breath. “Outside our apartment,” he says. 

“Okay,” Sam says. “You wanna come by the house? Jess is at a work and I’ll be there.” his voice is gentle, and Dean wants to hate him for it. 

Instead, he nods, then remembers Sam can’t see him. “Okay,” he says. 

“Are you okay to drive?” Sam asks, which, Dean hadn’t even thought of that. 

“I’ll take a cab,” he says. 

“Alright. I’ll wait,” Sam says. “Hey, Dean. Whatever it is, you and Cas love each other, you’ll figure it out.” He sounds so confident about it, too, and Dean doesn’t have the heart to tell him that it’s not that simple, not this time, not when Dean hurt Cas like this. 

+

By the time he makes it to Sam’s, Dean has mostly gotten it together, if only because he didn’t want some random cabbie seeing him with his mind all over the place.

Still, they don’t actually talk about it. They don’t talk about anything, really. Sam gets Dean a diet soda and they sit on the couch, quiet.

“You don’t want to tell me?” Sam asks, and it’s the only thing he asks, low and carefully phrased.

“I’m not sure I should,” Dean says, because he doesn’t know, if their positions were reversed, would he want Michael knowing Cas cheated on him. Except, well, their positions aren’t reversed, because Cas would never do this to him. 

“Okay. You can stay here for as long as you want,” Sam says, simple as that, and Dean doesn’t have enough words to thank him.

+

Dean stays with Sam, spends too long thinking about where he is and how he got here. He cries, a couple of times, and it’s so depressing, pathetic, really, because he doesn’t even deserve to be crying right now. He’s the one who fucked up. And he wasn't even drunk to do it. He thinks it would have been better if he were drunk through it, though he’s not sure who it would be better for.

Cas doesn’t call him, and Dean doesn’t call Cas. He has nothing to say to him, anyway, nothing other than how terribly sorry he is, and he’s not sure it would do Cas any good to hear that.

So Dean waits, and he hates every second of it.

+

After three days of wearing nothing but Sam’s oversized clothes and the job interview looming over him, Dean caves. He decides to text Cas, agonizes of the structure of the text for too long, and erases it five times before finally pressing send. Remembers a time he and Cas could just talk and agonizes over that, too, tries to remember when that was, exactly. 

Eventually, he settles on,  _ Is it okay if I come and pick up some stuff? _ And doesn’t put down his phone for the following thirty minutes, until he gets a response.

_ Sure. _

_ Tonight alright? _

_ Yes. _

And that’s about the most proper conversation the two of them have ever had, worse even than when they met and Dean was a fumbling mess of nerves. It’s sad to think about it like that but Dean wonders why couldn’t he have sooner, back at the bar. Why couldn't he have thought of his and Cas’s first date, or their first kiss, or their last kiss, even, because he is sure, now, that it would have helped him. 

It’s no use thinking of it like that, though, so Dean lets it go, prays that Cas will -

That Cas will.

+

Dean doesn’t even contemplate using his keys; he rings the doorbell and waits for Cas to let him in. He doesn’t run into any of their neighbors, thankfully, and when he gets to their floor, the door to the apartment is already open. Dean hesitates when he doesn’t see Cas, but he thinks he can make out some noises from the living room, so he steps inside and closes the door behind him, soft because he feels - he feels like an intruder, now.

“Cas?” he calls out, heading towards the living room. He doesn’t get a response, but he finds Cas on the couch, the TV playing softly behind him. He’s holding onto a glass of scotch, and his eyes are glassy. He smiles when he sees Dean, this sad, vicious thing, and he’s definitely drunk.

Dean doesn’t drink; doesn’t like what booze did to his father and doesn’t like what it does to him either. He’s not used to seeing Cas drink either, but he supposes he deserves this. 

“Hey,” he says, voice thick. “I’ll just pick up some stuff and be out of your hair.”

“Of course,” Cas says. The words are slow, languid, and Dean wonders how much Cas has had to drink so far. 

Dean nods and heads to the bedroom, picks up a bag and starts shoving things into it, mostly at random because he had a mental list before he got here but now he can’t remember a single item on it. He doesn’t know how much to pack, doesn’t want to pack too much if only so he has another excuse to come back. 

Cas is at the same spot when Dean comes back out of the bedroom, only now there’s a fresh glass of scotch in his hand. 

“I’m done,” Dean tells him, can’t help but eye the half full glass. 

Caas nods. “I’ll walk you out,” he says. He goes to get up and loses his balance, tipping ot the side for a moment before catching himself, and Dean has to squash down the urge to walk across the room and steady him. 

Cas is flustered afterward, but he follows Dean to the front door. Once there, Dean turns around to say goodbye and almost bumps into him, they’re that close, the closest they’ve been since that night in the kitchen. 

“Sorry,” Dean says, an instinct he doesn’t care to suppress right now. 

“Was it a man or a woman?” Cas blurts out, the words blurring together.

Dean flushes, looking away. “Cas,” he just says and hopes it’s enough because he fails to see what good this will do. 

“I want to know,” Cas says, and he sounds firmer now. 

“Does it even make a difference?” Dean asks, and hates himself for it almost immediately after, because who is he to be asking that. 

Cas blinks. “It does to me,” he says, clear. 

Dean swallows and answers. “It was a woman.”

“Okay.” Cas nods. 

Dean doesn’t know what to do with that. There used to be a time when readin Cas was just so easy, and now Dean can’t even figure out what Cas is thinking about.

“Was it good?” Cas goes on. His voice is thick, shaky, and Dean has heard him like this before, at least, knows Cas is one the verge of tears.

“Cas, please,” Dean tells him, a whisper. 

“Just tell me,” Cas says. “Was it - was it better than - ” he tries to ask, but his voice breaks, and Dean's heart breaks with it, two dozen different pieces that he’s afraid will never stick together again. 

“Cas, I’m so - ” Dean starts, never gets to finish, because suddenly Cas is crying, this loud, heaving thing, and Dean doesn’t even think about it, just drops his bag and hugs him.

Cas fights it at first, arms stretching out and body turning away, but then it’s like a switch flips inside him and he melts into it, boneless and shaking with it. Dean holds him through it, lets Cas soak up Sam’s shirt with tears and strokes his hair, because this is what he would have done for Cas  _ before _ .

Eventually, the tears dry up and the heaving slows down to a rasp and it’s just the two of them, hugging, and Dean feels so stupid for what he’s done, feels ridiculous and pathetic and wishes he could take it all back. Cas tries to get away again, after a few seconds, and Dean lets him, this time, doesn’t fight it. 

Cas turns away from him and wipes at his eyes, and Dean looks away, giving him some privacy. “Please go,” he says.

Dean wants to fight him on it but he knows he can’t - shouldn’t, really - so he picks up his stuff and leaves - again.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean spends precisely two days being miserable, not changing out of his clothes and not showering, hardly eating anything at all, and on the third day he takes a shower. He has no choice, really, he has to get to the job interview, and he can’t imagine showing up stinky and sad is going to help his chances. 

Dean is also nervous. He doesn’t want to admit it, but at the same time he’s acutely aware of how much he’s been counting on Cas, even now that they’re - separated, he supposes. He’s still using Cas’s  card to pay for stuff, for example, and it was okay when they were together but now -

It’s different now. 

Sam wishes him luck, of course, and Dean tries not to think, again, of how their roles have come half a circle: Sam taking care of Dean, giving him a place to stay and food to eat. Tries not to think about how  _ wrong  _ it all feels.

He has a chance to change all that now, though, he tells himself, and so he dresses for the interview, his favorite pair of jeans that he thought to grab from - from Cas’s apartment - and a yellow flannel. He spends too long in front of the mirror, looking at himself, at how he hasn't changed at all. 

+

The interview itself isn’t that bad. It’s the owner of the garage who interviews Dean this time, Bobby, together with Benny, who Dean had already met on his first interview. They ask him questions about his previous experience and why he left his last job, and Dean thinks he does okay. 

After the interview, he walks around town for a bit, mostly aimlessly, and almost swallows his tongue when he gets the call letting him know he got the job. It’s only three days a week, and the money is not much, but Dean fistbumps in the middle of the street once he gets off the phone. 

He walks the rest of the way to Sam’s in a good mood, at least until he remembers, and then he’s overcome with this bone-deep kind of guilt, overwhelming and all encompassing. He shouldn't be able to feel this kind of happiness, he thinks, not after how grandly he screwed over Cas, doesn’t deserve it.

Still, he can’t talk Sam and Jess out of throwing him a party after he tells them. It’s small, hardly a party, just the three of them, and Dean spends pretty much the entire night thinking about how much better things would be, if only he’d been a little more patient, a little less impulsive.

+

Cas doesn’t call him, or text him. He probably needs space, and time, Dean knows, and it’s justified, so Dean tries - and fails - not to think about it too hard. Instead he works, all of three days a week, but he throws himself into it, stays late and doesn’t go out with Benny and Charlie and Jo when they ask him because it just feels wrong, to go and have fun when all he can think about is the last conversation he and Cas had. 

After his first paycheck, Dean stops using his and Cas’s shared account, which was mostly Cas’s account, to be honest. He starts looking for a place to stay, too, doesn’t want to bother Sam and Jess any more than he already has, though it’s tough to find something worthwhile, on his budget.

+

Two weeks into his new job, Benny comes up to Dean and throws an arm over his shoulders. “Hey, brother,” he says. He’s covered in grease, but Dean doesn’t mind, he’s the same. “Coming out with us?”

Dean wants to say no, he’s not up to it, but something stops him just before the words are out of his mouth. He wants to say it’s Jess and Sam and how Dean should give them a night to themselves, quit cramming their style. Or maybe it’s the fact that Dean’s already said no before and he doesn’t want his new colleagues thinking he doesn’t like them. 

But really, Dean’s just lonely, lonely in this unfamiliar sense of the word where he has no one to turn to, not really, because Cas used to be that person for him and then Dean went and blew it all to hell. 

“Sure,” he says now, and if Benny’s surprised, he only shows it for a second. 

“Awesome,” he says then, smiling broadly. 

It ends up being the two of them plus Charlie and Jo at the bar. They don’t talk about anything in particular, are just all over the place, but Dean has a good time. He tries not to feel guilty about it but it still eats away at him, a little voice inside his head asking him what Cas is doing right now, how he’s spending his Friday night. 

At some point, Charlie and Benny bring up their plans regarding Valentine’s Day and that brings Dean back down to earth pretty soundly. He tries not to be too obviously miserable, doesn’t want to ruin their fun, and he manages, at least until Charlie asks him if he’s got anything planned. 

“I, uh,” Dean stumbles, unprepared. “I don’t really - no, no plans for me,” he manages to get out.  The words hurt, more so because Dean isn’t really sure what he’s talking about. He thinks it would have been easier, if Cas had just up and said they were done rather than bringing them to this, this uncertain middle ground that’s rotten in places, half caved in where Dean steps on it. 

“That’s my man,” Jo says, giving him a high five. “We can wallow in pity together, if you want? Some pizza, maybe chocolate, heart shaped, if you’re fancy?” she goes on. Dean can’t tell if she’s serious, but he appreciates the offer, even if it’s only to lighten the mood. 

Charlie cuts in then, changing the subject to something work related, and Dean is thankful for it. He feels safer talking about work, even if he’s only got two weeks under his belt, which is saying something, he supposes. 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean is at work when he gets the text, and it gives him a solid five second pause, just looking at it, at Cas’s name written across the display of his phone. 

_ Dean, I’m going on business trip on Monday. If you would like to pick up any more stuff from the apartment please let me know _ , it reads, formal and stuttered, so unlike how it’s supposed to be.

Dean isn’t sure how to reply. Part of him wants to be mad at Cas for shutting him out like this, both figuratively and literally, but he mostly knows he deserves it, after what he did. 

_ Sure. let me know when is good for you _ , Dean ends up texting back, and then he pockets his phone for the rest of the day, doesn’t want to be caught slacking off at work, not after the chance Bobby’s given him. 

It’s well into closing time when Dean checks his phone again, and he finds another message from Cas, letting him know that tomorrow night works for him. There’s nothing else, that’s all, and the hole in Dean’s chest grows three sizes just looking at it, not knowing what to do. 

+

This time, when Cas answers the door, he’s not drunk. He’s most definitely sober, and he even gives Dean a small, sad smile to welcome him. 

“Hello, Dean,” he says, and it’s no warm, exactly, but less cold than Dean expected, after the way their last meeting had gone. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, stepping inside.”I’ll be quick, won’t take up too much of your time,” he goes on, fumbly, because he feels like a guest, now, doesn’t want to impose on Cas. 

“It’s okay,” Cas says. “Take all the time you need.”

Dean still makes quick work of sifting through their joint closet, picking out more jeans and flannels for work. Once he’s done, he shoves them all in his bag and leaves, turning off the lights behind him, leaving the room the way he found it. 

Cas is in the kitchen, when Dean comes out of the hallway, and he’s making something, stood in front of the stove. Just looking at him makes Dean’s stomach turn, at the thought of their fight that night. Still, he finds himself staring for a few moments, unsure of what to do next until he finally says, “I’m done.” It’s too loud, ringing off the walls, and he cringes.

Cas turns around, startled. He looks at Dean, then his bag, and shifts his eight between his feet. “Uhm, I was - I was making tea, if you wanted - ” he gestures at the table, and Dean gets him, he’s just not sure what Cas is asking. “Sit with me,” Cas explains. 

“Cas,” Dean starts, uncertain. “I’m not sure - is that a good idea?” he finds himself asking, because the memory of the last time he was here is scorched into his mind, and he doesn’t think it’s any better for Cas.

“No, please,” Cas says quickly. “I - I wanted to say some things.”

At that, Dean’s stands up straighter, heartbeat thumping in his ears. He knew this was coming, it was inevitable, but he doesn’t think he’s prepared for it. He doesn’t want - he doesn’t want to be here while Cas ends this, what they have, or had, he supposes. 

“Cas,” he says again, and it sounds pained, even to his own ears.

Cas’s eyes grow wide, as if he’s realized something. “No, Dean, I - ” he cuts himself off, turns around to turn off the stove. He then opens the cupboard and takes out two mugs, fills them with tea. He sets them on the table and takes a seat across from Dean. “Please, sit,” he says, so Dean does. 

“So,” Cas starts, so goddamn awkward it screeches against Dean’s skin. “How have you been?” he asks, which - it’s not what Dean was expecting. 

He almost says ‘good’ out of habit but thinks better of it. He hasn’t been bad, been better than when he first moved out but is far from good. “Okay, I guess,” he says. “I got a job, finally,” he adds, because it feels like he’d be lying if he omitted it, after all the support Cas has showed him. 

Cas’s eyes widen at that, and he smiles, an honest to god smile, and something deep inside Dean flutters, light and quick and sweet and like he hasn’t felt in such a long time. “Oh, Dean, that’s such great news,” Cas says, and despite everything, he means it, and Dean loves him all that much more for it. He gets kind of lost just staring at Cas for a moment. 

“Yeah, it’s - thanks,” Dean splutters, finally coming up with some words. 

“So,” Cas prompts, and just for a moment, Dean can pretend everything is the way it used to be, the way it used to be  _ before _ . “Tell me about it.”

Dean looks away, suddenly ashamed for his fantasy. “Uhm, it’s only three days a week, not much. But the people are great and I get to work with cars,” he says.

Cas is quiet for a moment, simply smiling. “That’s so great Dean. I’m so happy for you,” he says, painfully earnest like he gets sometimes. 

Dean hurries to change the subject, flustered by the attention. “How about you?” he asks, the words foreign in his mouth, because it never used to be this formal between them. “How are you doing?”

Cas’s smile turns sad for a moment before it drops from his face altogether. “I supposed I’ve been doing fine,” he says, quiet. “Work has been tiresome but I’ve been - better.”

Dean nods, guilty. Cas already had enough on his plate before Dean went out and cheated on him, but he supposes that kind of toxic, one-way thinking is what got them in this mess in the first place. 

“How about Sam? How are he and Jess?” Cas goes on, before things have a chance to get awkward again. 

“Good,” Dean nods. “I’ve been staying with them, I don’t think they much like me cramming their style,” he jokes. 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Cas is quick to point out. Then, he asks, voice small, “Have you - told them?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I - I didn’t know if - ” he cuts himself off. He’s never been good with words, has always preferred actions over them. He’s acted enough, though. “Should I have?”

Cas shrugs, feigned lightness. “Whatever suits you,” he says. He sounds sad now, more than ever, and Dean is once again vividly reminded of the last time he was here, how Cas was a drunken mess, all because of him. 

“Cas,” he says, and his voice is thick. “For what it’s worth, I’d give anything,  _ anything  _ \- ”

“I know,” Cas cuts him off, not unkindly. “I know you would,” he says. 

Dean nods. 

“But it wasn't just you,” Cas admits, looking away. He pauses, and Dean waits him out, curious. “I mean, it took two of us to get to that point, I think.”

“I’m the one who - I’m the one who ruined things,” Dean says, because there is no way Cas doesn’t see that. 

“Maybe,” Cas says, and that hurts, a stab between Dean’s ribs. “Maybe not. I - ” Cas cuts himself off, looks at the table between them, all the space separating them. “I’ve been thinking. And I - I treated you badly,” he admits, each word a separate entity, enunciated cleanly. 

“Cas,” Dean says, because Dean  _ cheated  _ on him. He took what he and Cas had and set fire to it.

“I know, I know. But I treated you terribly,” Cas says. “I - those last few months, I took so much of what you did for for granted, Dean, and I shouldn’t have. You deserved better than that.”

Something shifts in Dean, hearing that. It shifts and slots into place and suddenly Dean can breathe again, breathe where he didn’t know he was having trouble doing so. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to seem greedy. “I - okay,” he ends up going with, which falls short in just about every aspect.

“It took two of us,” Cas just says again. 

They lapse into silence for a few seconds, wheels spinning frantically in Dean’s head. Before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “Is there a chance,” and that’s what it’s all about. The million dollar question. What keeps Dean up at nights.

Cas looks at him then, eyes incredibly open, and whoever said that eyes were the window to the soul must have had Cas in mind, Dean thinks. “How can you even ask me that?” Cas says, sounding honestly pained, and Dean doesn’t know what to do with that, at least not until Cas goes on. “I love you,” he says,and his voice breaks. 

Dean doesn’t know when the last time he heard those words was, but he cherishes them now, holds them close and carves them into his brain so he won’t forget them. 

“I’m just so angry, Dean,” Cas goes on. “And you don’t deserve that.”

“Yes, I do,” Dean says, unthinking. 

Cas gives him a sad smile. “No. No, you don’t. You deserve to be happy. And I stopped being that for you, somewhere along the way.”

“No, that’s not true,” Dean says quickly. He can’t believe he made Cas believe this, god, what was he thinking. 

“Maybe.” Cas shrugs, like he doesn’t quite believe Dean. “But the fact remains, you deserve to be happy and you haven’t been.”

+

Dean thinks about that a lot. He lies awake thinking about it, it’s so bad. Part of him wants to believe Cas was lying to him, but for all their faults, they’ve never lied to each other and Dean can’t think of a reason why Cas would start now. 

Dean tries to think about when the last time he was happy was, exactly, and he can’t pinpoint it. He can’t point to it, period. And it frightens him. He thinks he should he able to at least do that. He tries to conjure up a happy memory with Castiel from the past few months and all he can come up with is fighting. Quiet fighting, too, which is probably the worst sort of fighting. 

Dean doesn’t think that’s any excuse for what he did, but it clears things up a little, in his head.

+

It’s Cas who sends the first message. It’s a picture of his food, breakfast, eggs that look way overcooked.  _ Tastes better than it looks _ , the message reads. 

Dean’s fingers sweat, his leg jiggles. He tells himself not to overthink it, replies with,  _ sure hope so. it looks pretty terrible. _

And just like that, they slowly, tentatively, slip back into something remotely reminiscent of a routine. Of communication. 

+

It takes Dean a while, to learn to - to learn to be happy again, he supposes. It starts out small, like not fighting every smile that comes to him, but it’s difficult. Part of him wants to ring up Castiel and ask him for permission each time, but that’s not fair. That’s not Cas’s burden to bear, it’s Dean’s.

Talking to Cas helps, of course, it always does, even when it’s mostly about nothing and never anything too thoughtful. Dean thinks it’s better that way, too. He thinks he’s been counting on Cas too much, for too many things, not just money. He thinks somewhere along the way of counting on Cas, he lost himself. 


	4. Chapter 4

Dean doesn’t even check his phone before picking up, that’s why he’s so surprised when Cas’s voice follows his “Hello.”

“Dean, it’s me,” Cas says, steady as steel, and Dean can’t match it. They don’t really talk on the phone, have stuck to texting, so far. 

Dean clears his throat, blinks. “Hey,” he says, stupid. “Hey, Cas.”

There’s a pause, painfully awkward. Dean hates it. It reminds him of how much progress they haven't made, despite their tentative lines of communication. “I wanted - I know we haven't -,” Cas says, after a while. “It’s probably unfair, asking this of you,” Cas stops, as if waiting for something. 

Dean doesn't know what that is, doesn’t know how Cas can talk about fairness after what Dean did to him. “Cas, it’s - it’s okay,” he says. “Anything.” And even that feels - lacking. 

“I wanted to - ” Cas says, stops. Dean’s heart thumps in his chest, impatient. “There’s this party at work,” Cas goes on, and Dean’s stomach drops, because he thought - 

He just thought. 

“And I haven’t told anyone about what happened,” Cas says, the words coming slowly, noticeably so. 

“Oh,” Dean says. “I - okay.”

“I just - would you come with me?” Cas asks, and his voice shakes at that, finally. “I know it’s a lot to ask, you hate those things at the best of times, but - ” He pauses, takes a breath, and Dean waits him out. “I need you to do this for me,” he says, whispers, really, and it  _ hurts  _ Dean, again, what he did. Dean doesn’t know when that pain will stop, if ever.

“Cas,” he says, and his voice is thick, that single word feeling so heavy on his tongue. “Of course,” he says because how could he say otherwise.

On the other end of the line, Cas sighs, Dean can hear it, muffled. “Thank you,” he says. 

“It’s no big deal,” Dean lies. He rubs a hand over his face and is glad no one is here to see him like this. 

“I’ll text you the details?” Cas asks. 

“Yeah, sounds good,” Dean says. 

“Okay. I have to - I have to go now,” Cas says, after a few seconds. 

Dean nods, and then Cas is hanging up. Dean rests his elbows on his knees, lets his head fall between his shoulders. He breathes. Tries not to think about how they got here, about how he cheated on Cas and ruined everything that they had. Tries not think about what they had either, because that hurts him more than anything. 

Dean tries, is all. 

+

The party is the following Saturday, four days away, and Dean spends all four of them worrying his fingernails and chewing through the inside of his cheeks. Sam notices, of course, asks him what’s wrong. Dean remembers Cas saying he didn't tell anyone, so he doesn’t tell Sam now, knows he shouldn’t. 

“He asked me to go with him to this work thing,” Dean tells him instead, which falls short is just about every single department. 

“You hate those,” Sam replies eloquently, which is not untrue. 

“Still,” Dean says, because Cas  _ asked  _ him, and that’s pretty much what it comes down to. 

Maybe Sam gets it, without Dean even having to say it, because he drops it there, asks instead what Dean wants for dinner. Dean doesn’t want anything for dinner, his stomach is tied up in knots, a mess, and he feels like putting food in the mix is just going to make everything worse.

“You guys go ahead and eat without me,” he says to Sam. “I’m not that hungry.”

+

Dean goes by their apartment (is it even still  _ their  _ apartment?) before the party, because that’s where all three of the suits he owns are. Cas lets him in, and they spend a grand minute just looking at each other, awkward. Dean is reminded of the last time he was here, and the time before that, and he finally has to look away, ashamed. 

“Thanks for doing this,” Cas says then, gentle. 

Dean shrugs. It’s stiff and uncomfortable, mirroring how he feels. “It’s no problem,” he says. 

“Still. This was a lot to ask,” Cas argues. 

It wasn’t, if only because Dean would do anything for Cas. He doesn’t know how to say that, though, the words too thick for his mouth, so he just shrugs again. 

“So, I’m gonna let you.” Cas gestures towards the bedroom. “Let you get dressed,” he says. 

Dean nods and makes his way to the bedroom. Nothing’s changed, and the nightstand on what used to be his side of the bed is empty, the way he left it. He’d usually leave his phone to charge there, and a bottle of water, but it looks unused now. Dean doesn’t know what to do with that, if anything, so instead he gets dressed. 

He picks out a black suit that fits him well and pairs it with a green tie, the one Cas insist brings out his eyes. He spends a few minutes messing with his hair in the bathroom once he’s dressed, and ends up leaving it the way he always does. 

Cas is dressed when Dean comes out of the bedroom, a dark blue suit and a turquoise tie that matches his eyes. He looks good, and Dean’s caught looking for a few seconds, just looking, thinking about nothing in particular. 

Cas either doesn’t notice or is generous enough not to bring it up. In either case, Dean is glad. “Ready to go?” he asks instead, pulling on his suit jacket, and it’s all - 

It's all so domestic, it hurts Dean, a little bit. Leaves a sour taste in the back of his throat, sharp; inescapable. Dean wonders if Cas notices that, at least, and he looks at him, meets his eyes. Cas is smiling, a sad thing, so Dean thinks he does, he does notice it, probably even more than Dean does.

“Yeah,” Dean says, to save them both. 

Cas drives, and he asks Dean about work on their way there. 

“It’s - it’s pretty good,” Dean says. There’s a pause, he doesn’t know if he should say more, if Cas wants to hear more, and then he thinks ‘screw it, Cas asked’. “I’ve gone out with the guys a couple of times, and Bobby’s - he’s the owner - he’s talked to me about giving me a few more hours,” he says. 

“Dean that’s so great,” Cas says genuinely. He turns to look at Dean for a second, from the corner of his eye, and Dean flushes, at the thought of making Cas proud. 

“Yeah, it’s - it’s good,” he says, flustered. 

+

At the party, Cas doesn’t leave Dean’s side. Dean is grateful, honestly, more than he can probably put into words. He hates these types of events, where he thinks people are out to judge him, either for his work or his community college degree, or for being with Cas, who deserves so much better.

Dean thought he’d be over that, that last one, by now, since he and Cas - they’re not, not anymore - but he finds, with a start, that he still cares, wants to impress Cas’s colleagues, show that he’s good enough. It doesn’t help that Cas’s colleagues are mostly his family, and Dean knows he hasn’t and is probably never going to get their approval. He supposes it’s a lost cause, now, trying, but he still does, laughs at the right moments and cracks a couple of jokes when he feels comfortable enough to do so.

It leaves him exhausted, all the effort, and after a while he excuses himself and goes to hide in the stairwell. It’s his usual spot, for whenever he comes with Cas to one of these parties and feels like he needs a break. Usually Cas will leave him to it, and Dean expects this time to be no different. Why would it be; he and Cas aren’t even -

Cas surprises him, though. After a few minutes, he opens the door leading to the stairwell and asks Dean if it’s alright to join him. 

Dean stares for a moment, both at the question and Cas, before he finally nods. “Sure,” he says. 

Cas closes the door behind him and sinks down on the steps next to Dean. This is the closest they’ve been since the night at the apartment, and Dean cas feel Cas’s body heat. He has to try not to lean into it. 

“Pretty boring,” Cas says. 

Dean laughs, a short thing. “Yeah,” he says. “Guess you could say that.”

They’re both quiet after that, just the muffled noises of the party on the other side of the door filling the space between them. Then, Cas says, “I didn’t really invite you here because I haven’t told anyone,” breaking the silence. “I mean, I haven’t told anyone, that part is true, but,” eh stops, and Dean waits him out, but nothing follows his sentence. 

“But what?” Dean prompts softly, doesn’t want to spook Cas.

“I wanted to see you,” Cas says quietly. 

The hole in Dean’s chest convulses, either trying to shut or just remind Dean of its presence, Dean doesn’t know. Doesn’t really care either, not after hearing Cas admit that. “I - ” Dean starts, cuts himself off, unsure of what to say. He doesn’t think words are enough, here. “I wanted to see you too,” he ends up saying, and it feels both like nothing and everything. 

“That’s - ” Cas breathes out. “That’s good,” he says. He turns to look at Dean then, Dean can feel it, so he turns his head to side and meets his eyes. Dean isn't sure what he expected to find there, but it still takes his breath away, just looking at Cas, being this close to him. 

Then Cas, slowly, painfully slowly, reaches up and cups his face, lays his palm on Dean’s cheek. His skin is soft, the way Dean remembers it, and is drags against Dean’s stubble. It’s warm, too, and this time Dean doesn’t stop himself from leaning into it, can’t. 

“Cas,” he breathes out, and lays his hand over Cas’s on his cheek, links their fingers together. 

“I miss you so much,” Cas says then, rough, and thick, and it’s everything Dean wanted to hear. 

He lets his eyes flutter shut, leans forward maybe half an inch and waits for Cas to meet him the rest of the way because he doesn't know if he’s allowed to kiss him, right now. Cas does, brushes their lips together, and Dean chokes on his breath, heart hammering away in his chest. 

Dean pulls back first because there’s so much - there’s so much he wants to say and nothing he can put into words. “Cas,” he just says, stupidly. He leans his forehead against Cas’s and keeps his eyes shut, licks his lips. “Are you - are you sure?” 

“I know you’re sorry,” Cas whispers, like it’s that simple. “Would you do it again?” he asks, and his voice is so quiet, barely audible. 

Dean is so used to hurting, by now. “No,” he says, too loud but true. “No, I would never.”

Cas breathes out, relieved. He squeezes Dean’s fingers. “That’s enough for me,” he says. 

It pains Dean, what he’s about to say, but he knows he has to. “I - I’m not - I don’t think I’m ready yet,” he says. 

Cas freezes, pulls back, and it’s like he drags a piece of Dean’s heart with him. “I don’t understand,” he says, and it’s not as if Dean can blame him. 

“What you said last time, about being happy,” Dean starts. “You opinion, Cas, it meant so much to me,” he says, tries to explain the tangle of emotions running through him. “I - I couldn't be happy because I counted on you too much. I stopped being myself.”

Cas eyes are hard, and the they gradually start to soften, grow kinder, and the knot in Dean’s stomach starts to loosen. “I think I get that,” he says, and he sounds sad, guilty. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

“It’s not your fault,” Dean says quickly, because he’s the one who got so tangled up in Cas that he let himself get lost. 

“I think it’s at least partly my fault,” Cas argues. 

Dean doesn’t want to fight him, not now. “I want to try again, but - I need to take it slow,” he says. 

“Of course, Dean,” Cas says, and the knot in Dean’s stomach comes undone, suddenly, the hole in his chest curling into itself. “Anything,” Cas says. 

“Can I kiss you again?” Dean finds himself asking, because he can’t not, now. 

Cas smiles. He leans forward and brings their lips together, gentle, and Dean closes his eyes, lets himself sink into it. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading :))
> 
> i also have a[ tumblr](http://deanneedsahug.tumblr.com/)


End file.
